


my funny valentine

by bisexualfpjones



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: M/M, Riverparents, dont ask me when this fic takes place, middle aged men being dumb and in love, much like on riverdale time is an enigma, parentdale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:40:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22746424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bisexualfpjones/pseuds/bisexualfpjones
Summary: FP still doesn’t look at him, just waves a finger in the direction of his earring. “It was supposed to be, like, a thing. I don’t know.” It sounds so fucking stupid now that FP has to actually explain it. He’s sure his face is the same shade of red as the decorative hearts strewn up throughout Pop’s. He’s probably gotta move towns now. Or states. Definitely change his name. Maybe go blond or something.Fred leans forward in his seat a little. His eyes squint as he tries to get his first good look at the piece of jewelry adorning FP’s ear. “Be mine?”
Relationships: FP Jones II & Toni Topaz (mentioned), Fred Andrews/FP Jones II
Comments: 8
Kudos: 40
Collections: Fall in Love with Riverdale: A Valentine's Event





	my funny valentine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jugheadjones](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jugheadjones/gifts).



> a (belated) valentine for my valentine *insert smoochy face emoji*
> 
> (this fic is based on a pic from when vanessa took skeet to get his ear pierced at claires. i dont know how to insert it. im old)

Valentine’s Day has never really been a thing FP bothered to celebrate. 

As a kid, it was performative. His mom would get whatever box of generic cards was left at the store so he could pass them out to his class, no real thought behind it (though, if he took a few extra minutes to pick out his favorite for his best friend Freddie, nobody else needed to know). 

Middle school came, and when his mom died so did any Valentine’s tradition. He couldn’t even walk by a display without being hit with the memories of sitting around their makeshift dining table, him sat between her legs as she curled around his back to look over his shoulder, helping him write out the names of his classmates, maybe decorate with a sticker or two. But they were easier to avoid by then. Teachers in middle school didn’t throw class parties and expect everyone to participate. A valentine became something you had to be worthy of. Fred still managed to have one for him every year anyway.

Girls started noticing FP in high school. When he had bulked up over the summer from football practices and trainings. He’d open his locker and find cards from Tracy, and Karen, and Margarite, and Sandra, and whoever else wanted a piece of him that week. Names and numbers adorned in pink glitter and festive hearts because suddenly FP was some bigshot bringing home trophies, and apparently that meant he was worth the effort.

But every bozo knew you didn’t take a girl out on a day like Valentine’s without her thinking you were looking for commitment. And FP definitely wasn’t. 

Fred still made sure to give him a card, though. Every year like clockwork. But it hit different knowing Fred would be out that night with someone else on his arm. And FP had to swallow the bitter realization that he would’ve committed to Fred if only he had asked.

Gladys had come along later; all tornado force winds and spitfire packaged in a petite leather bow. FP was ready to give her whatever she wanted. He’d bring her Cupid himself if she’d asked. But Gladys hadn’t been one for Valentine’s either. Went on about the commercialization of love and how capitalism wasn’t killing romance. So they never bothered with it, which was fine, because he spent the rest of the year worshipping her anyway.

Valentine’s Day took on a whole different meaning when his marriage started falling apart, when he started hitting the bottle too hard and could feel his wife, his family, slipping through his fingers. He tried coming home with little stuffed bears, boxes of chocolates, roses when he could afford them… He knew it was a futile effort, knew he was fucking up bigger than any amount of chocolate or conversation hearts could ever fix even if Gladys _had_ liked them. 

Fred had left long before Gladys. FP still kept a box of all the cards tucked away in his closet. Hadn’t added a new one in years.

\--

FP’s life looks different now. He doesn’t have a wife anymore (which they both decided was for the best), but he somehow still has his best friend.

It feels like high school again. It always does when they’re together, for better or worse. It’s the undeniable pull they have towards each other. It’s the way FP catches himself staring a little too long when Fred’s not looking, when he leaves the room… It’s the way they always find reasons to touch each other, and FP finds himself wondering if maybe Fred’s doing it on purpose, or maybe it’s just wishful thinking. 

Because FP’s known since he was kid how he felt about his best friend. Has known for years, _decades_ , that ‘platonic’ wasn’t the word for it. But he never had the courage to say it. Didn’t think he had the right words for it even if he had. 

He has the courage now, though, if maybe not the words. But FP’s always been more of an act first, think later kind of person anyway - diving headfirst into situations before he has time to sit and contemplate any consequences.

Which is how he ended up with a candy heart-shaped stud in his ear that reads _Be Mine?_

Valentine’s Day is supposed to be about the big romantic gestures, or so he’s gathered from TV and movies. He’s not sure if this technically counts as one, but it seemed like a better idea than buying a dozen roses to hand deliver. Not that he could afford that anyway.

FP pulls his bike into the parking lot of Pop’s, finding an empty space next to Fred’s truck to park. The nerves hit him seemingly all at once as he removes his helmet and just sits outside in the cold air that’s doing nothing to help his suddenly sweaty palms.

He reaches up to fidget with his newly pierced ear, quickly realizes what a mistake it is to touch the still tender lobe, and hisses before retracting his hand. He goes for his hair instead, fixates on his reflection in the window of Fred’s truck and musses around until he looks presentable enough to go inside. 

This was all fine when it was just an idea. Some abstract notion of _what if? Maybe…_ But as the bell chimes over his head as he walks in to the diner he starts to wonder if maybe he’s been a little too presumptuous. What business does he have asking Fred out? He’s not Hermione or Mary, has nothing to offer a guy like Fred Andrews. Hell, he doesn’t even know if he’s an _option_. It’s not like they’ve ever had a talk about FP’s inclination towards the same sex, or Fred’s for that matter (if he even has one). Was never really a right time to bring it up. Never seemed appropriate.

Toni, while jabbing a needle through his ear earlier, had tried to quell any of FP’s fear. _“It’s a different time now. Half the kids you know are gay. It’s not as scary as it used to be. Besides, I don’t see Fred Andrews as being the type to hold it against you.”_

FP wanted to tell Toni she didn’t know Fred well enough to make that kind of judgement, but decided against it because she was right regardless. And if he _did_ end up making a fool of himself he could play it off as a joke. No harm, no foul. Fred would be none the wiser. 

That’s what he tells himself, anyway, as he spots his best friend in a booth, back facing him. 

FP could leave now. It’s not like any of this was planned. Fred’s not expecting him. Hell, maybe Fred’s here with somebody else, or waiting for them. FP hadn’t thought Fred had been seeing anyone recently, but the guy’s never had a problem pulling a date last minute. FP’s sure he still could.

As he gets closer to the table FP doesn’t notice any sign of another person being there. No extra plates or cups… just Fred nursing a soda and a half empty plate of fries.

It’s now or never, FP thinks to himself, taking in and letting out a deep breath, straightening himself up before putting on a big smile and sliding in the booth across from Fred. 

“Freddie! How the hell are ya?” He reaches over to steal a fry from his best friend’s plate. 

Fred pushes his plate out towards the middle of the table, a small laugh spilling from his lips as he shakes his head. FP pauses with the fry halfway in his mouth, completely transfixed by that smile. And, yeah, things _really_ haven’t changed since high school.

“What’re you doing here all by your lonesome?” He’s a little off kilter now that he’s so close, but FP manages to slip back into his usual cool persona.

Fred shrugs, still smiling as he leans back in his seat and mirrors FP’s pose; casual, arm slung over the back of his seat. “Who am I supposed to be with?”

And it- it _feels_ like flirting. Or teetering on the edge of. Like all their conversations lately. So FP wades a little further out in that water.

“A good-lookin’ guy like you? Figured you’d be Riverdale’s most eligible bachelor. Have all the ladies clambering to get a date today.”

FP doesn’t miss the way Fred’s cheeks go a little red, even if he looks down to try and hide it.

“Oh, I don’t know about that.”

“Oh, come on.” FP nudges Fred’s foot with his own under the table, gets Fred to look up at him again. “Don’t start acting like you don’t know you’re hot shit. Anyone would be lucky to have you.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

A silence falls between them. A palpable tension in the air that FP thinks he might choke on. The way Fred’s looking at him right now, big brown eyes boring into his, expression soft and inviting. He’s beautiful. 

The moment’s now. FP hadn’t expected some flashing neon sign to tell him when to go for it, but something’s telling him this is the closest he’ll get to one. 

He leans forward in his seat, resting his forearms on the table before him. He thinks about maybe reaching out for Fred’s hands, decides that’s maybe too forward and settles with holding his own instead. “Can I ask you a question?”

Fred’s features take on a more serious tone without losing their softness. “Yeah. Of course.”

FP shifts his focus to his twiddling thumbs, eyebrows scrunched together in concentration as he figures out how he wants to do this. His tongue suddenly feels heavy in his mouth, all dry and cotton-like. “Can I have a sip of this?” He gestures to Fred’s half empty glass of cola, doesn’t even wait for an answer before he’s sliding it over towards him and sucking up the rest of it through the straw.

“Is that the question you wanted to ask me?” Fred asks through a chuckle, his eyes betraying only the tiniest hint of worry. 

An involuntary burp escapes FP’s mouth instead of an answer. Fred’s eyes go a little wide as he laughs. FP’s face heats up instantly, and all he wants to do is crawl into a hole and die. He rubs his hands over his face, groaning into them. “No, that wasn’t my question.” 

He’s gotta figure out a way to reel this back in. On the list of unsexy and unromantic things, belching’s probably somewhere at the top. How the hell’s he supposed to ask Fred out now?

But maybe he’s not a complete lost cause. Fred’s not making any moves to leave, so FP figures that’s gotta count for something. “Look, I wanted to see you today because I wanted to ask you if-”

“Did you pierce your ear?”

FP’s almost annoyed at the interruption before he remembers what the point of him tracking down Fred today even was. He’d been so caught up in his nerves ever since he stepped foot inside the diner that he had completely forgotten about the little piece of metal in his ear. “Oh, yeah, about that. That’s what I wanted-”

“It’s all red, FP!” Fred’s leaning over the table now, close enough that FP gets a good whiff of his cologne - the familiar scent of earth and musk that smells so quintessentially _Fred_. He finds himself getting lost in it until Fred’s reaching for his ear, making contact with the still tender flesh, and FP swats his hand away.

“It’s fine!” FP’s not _mad_ , but Fred’s doing that thing where he gets a little condescending, makes FP feel like a child, and it has a way of getting under his skin like nothing else. But he’s trying to keep his cool. A fight is the complete opposite of what he wants right now.

Fred’s still in his face trying to assess the damage like some concerned dad, which is admittedly charming most days. FP tends to like how concerned Fred always is for him, for everyone, really, but right now he’s just derailing the conversation. 

“It could be infected!”

“Oh my God, it’s not infected!” FP rolls his eyes. “Toni knows what she’s doing.”

“Toni?” Fred pulls back, eyes having gone wide in shock. “You let a teenager pierce your ear?!”

“I told you she knows what she’s doing!” Neither of them are yelling, exactly, but their voices are definitely raised loud enough that FP’s sure they’re disturbing fellow patrons around them. He’d maybe feel bad about ruining their Valentine’s Day if his own wasn’t turning into such a shit show right now. “Besides, the hole was already there. She just had to reopen it.”

Fred crosses his arms over his chest, sitting back in his seat. “Oh, because that makes it so much better. What on earth possessed you to get an earring in the first place, FP? You’re in your 40’s!”

FP slams his hand on the table out of frustration, unable to keep whatever cool he had left. “I was trying to ask you out, dammit!” He actually yells that time. That, combined with the clattering of the plate and cup on the table, gets the attention of everyone in the diner, if their bickering hadn’t already. Or it feels like it does, anyway. FP’s too busy curling in on himself and avoiding everyone’s, especially Fred’s, gaze to notice.

Neither of them speak for a moment. FP’s too afraid to look up. He’s blown whatever chance he had before he even had it. Maybe just ruined the last good relationship he had in his life at all. And that’s a fucking hard pill to swallow. Shit’s gonna be awkward now.

When Fred finally speaks he’s much quieter than either of them have been. “What do you mean you were gonna ask me out?”

FP still doesn’t look at him, just waves a finger in the direction of his earring. “It was supposed to be, like, a thing. I don’t know.” It sounds so fucking stupid now that FP has to actually explain it. He’s sure his face is the same shade of red as the decorative hearts strewn up throughout Pop’s. He’s probably gotta move towns now. Or states. Definitely change his name. Maybe go blond or something.

Fred leans forward in his seat a little. His eyes squint as he tries to get his first good look at the piece of jewelry adorning FP’s ear. “Be mine?”

FP makes a face, shrugs his shoulders, but otherwise doesn’t say anything. It’s another moment of silence, and FP thinks he should just go. No point in sticking around just to stew in his humiliation. 

He’s about to bolt for the exit when he hears soft chuckling breaking through the air between them. And great, that’s exactly what he needs. “Okay, you could have at least waited for me to leave to start laughing at me.” FP’s had about his fill of public humiliation for the day. He really can’t take any more of it.

He’s halfway out of the booth when suddenly Fred’s hand is on his wrist keeping him in place. 

“Hold on a minute. I’m not laughing at you,” Fred says, laughing harder.

FP arches a brow like he begs to differ, but Fred’s tugging at his wrist, telling him to sit back down, so he does. With all the attitude of a petulant child. 

“I promise I’m not laughing at you,” Fred repeats when FP doesn’t remove the pout on his face. At least this time Fred has the courtesy to rein in his amusement. “But, I mean… an earring? Seriously? What’re we, in middle school?” 

Fred’s not mean when he says it. It’s more friendly teasing if anything. Doesn’t make FP’s ears burn any less. 

“I don’t know, alright? I was nervous. I didn’t- I didn’t know how to play this.” FP pauses, takes a breath. His voice is so much quieter when he speaks again, like he’s afraid to say it. “You just, you scare the hell out of me.”

“ _Me?_ ” Fred says it like it’s the most unbelievable thing in the world. 

“Yes, you.”

“What’s so scary about me?”

This isn’t exactly the conversation FP wants to be having right now, but. Might as well lay all his cards out on the table. “God, Fred,” he says on a sigh, running his fingers through his curls to push them back. “I think I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you.” 

They had just been kids on the playground. FP was by himself, swinging alone and kicking up dirt, when this scrawny kid with scraped knees and too much energy came over to introduce himself, offered up half his sandwich. FP had maybe said two words to him that whole afternoon, but Fred stuck around regardless. And maybe FP had been too young to know about love and the dangers it brings to boys like him, but he knew he was happier around Fred. Brighter. And that had to count for something.

“But I didn’t know what to do with that. Still don’t, clearly.” He gestures to his ear, gaze focused down at the table instead of in front of him. 

Fred reaches across the table for FP’s hand then, holds his fingers in his own on the tabletop. The shock of the contact causes FP to finally look up at him. 

“You could’ve just told me, you know.” Fred’s got his mouth ticked up in a half smirk, his thumb rubbing gently back and forth across FP’s knuckles. 

FP’s breath hitches a little, his eyes darting down to where their hands are connected before looking back up. “I didn’t think that was a possibility.” For a lot of reasons, the biggest of which being the fear of losing Fred as a friend. But there’s something in the way Fred’s holding FP’s hand now, not letting him go. The way Fred’s looking at him, so tender and earnest…

“I’m _saying_ ,” Fred slides his fingers till they’re interlocked with FP’s, gives his hand a little squeeze, “that I wanted you, too.”

FP swallows, unsure, feels like this is too good to be true. “Want _ed_? Or _want_?”

Fred nudges FP’s foot under the table, smile widening. “F.”

Something in FP goes loose then, like suddenly everything’s clicking in to place. He feels his confidence slowly coming back to him. “You know, that information would’ve been useful thirty years ago,” he teases.

Fred breathes out a laugh, but looks a little contemplative, maybe even a little morose. “I don’t think we were ready for it back then.” 

FP can’t help but nod. It’s not necessarily the answer he wants to hear, but it’s probably the truest one. “But we are now.” It’s a half statement, half question.

“I think so.” Fred nods. “Just, promise me one thing?” His expression goes serious all of a sudden. 

FP sits up a little straighter in his seat, tries not to worry about what Fred could possibly have to say. “Yeah. Anything.”

“No more surprise body modifications.” Fred’s lip twitches up in a smirk. “A box of chocolates will do just fine.”

Relief washes over FP, his body relaxing once again. He’s starting to feel like himself now that he’s seemingly gotten over every hurdle he possibly could have faced today. “Well, I can’t make any promises. I was thinking maybe I’d get a big portrait of you done on my back.”

Fred laughs, a saccharine tune that fills FP’s ears. “How ‘bout you start with buying me a milkshake, huh?”

There’s an old doo-woppy lovesong playing on the jukebox at the back of the diner. Love is permeating the air between all the couples sitting around them, and for the first time FP thinks he’s one of them. He finally _gets_ what all the Hallmark cards and glittery hearts are all about. Finally gets what it’s like to want to share that with someone, wrap them up in it. And sure, it’s cheesy and corny but. It’s fun, and it’s light, and it’s happy. And maybe that’s what love’s supposed to be. 

“Yeah. I can definitely do that.”

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos much appreciated!


End file.
